The Royal Baby Revelation Read Free

feel so intensely special at the time?
    Eyes blinking rapidly, Melissa tried to put her jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order. Forcing herself not to do something crazy, that afterwards she might regret. Like blurting something out. Something along the lines of: Your Royal Highness, I can see my son’s face in your features. Or I have a miniature version of you back home, Casimiro—an heir you aren’t even aware of.
    But she couldn’t possibly do that. Not right out of the blue. Not when she’d already decided that she was going to have to choose her moment to tell him very carefully. And standing beneath the nearcontemptuous gaze of a man who was regarding her as if she’d tumbled down from space and were burning an unwelcome hole in his priceless silk rug would never be described as ideal, not in anyone’s eyes.
    ‘I’m Melissa,’ she said, hoping against hope that the sound of her Christian name might stir something in his memory. Didn’t he once say that it made him think of honey?
    ‘Melissa?’
    ‘Melissa Maguire.’
    He flicked her a look of barely restrained boredom. ‘I’m none the wiser.’
    What could she say which might jog his memory? Some half-forgotten fragment of conversation which might have stayed alive in his mind even if the memory of her eager love-making didn’t. Hadn’t he told her that the afternoon when they’d sneaked out on the little river boat had been one of the best of his life? Swallowing down her hurt, she wobbled him a smile. ‘I live…I live just outside London in a place called Walton-on-Thames. Not far from the river, where you can hire rowing boats. You might—’
    ‘I might be in danger of falling asleep any minute now if you continue with your dull little monologue.’ Amber eyes iced through her as he cut into her faltering words. ‘I didn’t ask for your life story. I asked what you’re doing here, waltzing into my private rooms with a complete and utter lack of regard.’ He paused as all the frustration and uncertainty of the past months now found a legitimate outlet for his intense irritation. ‘Because I’m assuming that you know who I am—even though you have made no suitable acknowledegment of the fact.’
    ‘Of course I know who you are,’ she said quickly. ‘You are the King of Zaffirinthos.’
    ‘And yet you greet me as you would a casual friend. You do not lower your eyes in deference? Nor attempt the curtsey which my title merits?’
    Melissa heard the silky barbs which spiked his icy request and shakily she attempted to comply—but it felt like a form of humiliation as she crossed one ankle behind the other and awkwardly dipped her knees, like some sort of adolescent frog. Inside she felt upset and angry—his sardonic comments coming hot on the heels of the realisation that he didn’t recognise her. Why should she have to bow and scrape to him—when she was the mother of his child?
    Yet now was probably not the best time to exhibit rebellion and so she executed the most graceful curtsey she could manage—which wasn’t easy given that she was now feeling hot and flustered and her linen dress didn’t allow for much movement. ‘Forgive me, Your Highness,’ she said.
    ‘Majesty,’ he corrected silkily—although the irony of his statement did not escape him. Not His Majesty for very much longer, he thought—with a heart which grew heavy at the thought of what lay ahead. Soon he would be free of all the accoutrements which had turned his life into a gilded cage. When he made his dramatic announcement at the ball that night, it would put an end at last to all the speculation about his future.
    But as he studied the top of the Englishwoman’s bent head Casimiro’s intuition was alerted—something that had not been lost as a result of his accident, although he had been robbed of much else. There was something about her behaviour which didn’t add up—something about her attitude which didn’t make sense—though he